I Giorni
by DarkHairedWeasley
Summary: Slightly AU - Hermione has a sister. Named after the piece it was inspired by, this just popped into my head whilst I was playing the piano and thinking about my own sisters. Hermione remembers her sister before she disappeared. One shot for now.


_So... My second fic ever. This was born out of my own general musings about my sisters whilst I was playing piano - our childhoods were alost nothing like this, but there you go! _  
><em>Nothing recognisable belongs to me.<em>

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><p>Long, slender fingers caressed the ivory, so similar in colour that they might as well have been made of the same material. The right hand moved with careful deliberation, knowing exactly where to be when, and how much pressure to apply. The left hand moved slightly faster, but didn't rush. Rushing was the worst thing it could do. The right foot, bare against the wooden floorboards, moved with gentle, precise movements. The black grand piano glinted softly in the dim light in the otherwise empty room. There was no carpeting, and the walls were a stark white. No door was visible as girl and instrument shut out the world. The girl herself was lost in the music, moving slightly as she played with closed eyes, fingers finding their places automatically. Her long, dark hair flowed in waves over one shoulder and a single tear made its way slowly down her cheek.<p>

A single chord, held on in its loneliness, faded away. There was a pause of absolute silence before the second section started, the right hand moving in even, gentle patterns. Hermione Jean Granger opened her eyes and looked across the room. There was a young girl standing there smiling at her, similar in looks but oh-so-different in personality. The girl began to move, danging around the room until…

She was five years old, staring in wonder at the giant teddy bear cake made by her big sister.

She was six, sitting on top of their battered piano and watching her sister's fingers move through the music. Her red and white checked dress matched the bows tying the two plaits in her hair, and her white tights She was so enraptured that she didn't notice the camera flash, or hear her parents' quiet laughter.

She was seven, skipping to her first piano lesson with her big sister's hand in hers.

It was summer, and she was nine years old. She ran through the fields of wheat near their home, her dress covered in mud and her hair streaming out behind her. She found her sister, miraculously clean and tidy, and dragged her from the tree she sat in and onto the ground. They both laughed happily and started to wrestle on the ground so the older of the two was just as dirty as the younger. The scene shifted, and it was later that same day. The older girl sat back, leaning against a tree with the younger's head resting in her lap. She read from their favourite childhood book – stories of princesses, dragons, faries, merpeople and, most importantly, princes. The mud had dried on their hands and faces, and their hair was plaited to hide how messy it had become. The elder had plaited both girls' hair, at the younger's request.

It was August that year, and the two girls sat by the fire with mugs of hot chocolate sprinkled with cinnamon. The wood burned merrily, and the older of the two saw the light dancing in her sister's eyes. Their parents sat behid them, watching their children. Their two girls, so different yet so alike. One so reserved, the other so free.  
>It was the first of September, and the Hogwarts Express stood gleaming before them, Yet only one could go. Both sisters held on to each other as if their lives depended on it, tears streaming down their faces. A whistle blew, and the elder pressed a note into her sister's hand and ran onto the train. The younger ran after the train as far as she could, stopping only when her sister's bushy hair was no longer visible, not even to her imagination. She opened the note in her palm, and looked at the three words there, knowing that the note would become her favourite posession. She kissed it gently, murmuring 'Be safe, my sister.'<p>

It was Christmas, a few years on. One sister was 15, the other 13. They flew at each other as soon as the former set foot on the train platform. The younger noticed the look in her sister's eyes and, later that evening as they sat on the double bed they had always shared, she listened to her sister's story. She was horrified, and begged her sister never to return to that school. Never to go back to a place where such horrors had occurred. Yet her sister said she had to, that she had a duty. What kind of a world was this, the younger wondered, where the fate of the civilisation lay in the hands of three teenagers? On Christmas day they performed for their parents, as they always had. The elder at their old, bettered piano and the younger dancing around the room. Both had the voices of angels, and sang together in such sweet harmony that it brought tears to their parents' eyes.

And then it was time for the elder sister to return to her world of danger and hate. They hugged like they never had before. Like it was the last time they would see each other. _'If only you knew' _the Hermione watching thought bitterly, her fingers never ceasing their movement on the keys, _'If only you knew what would happen.'_

It was early February, and a black owl swooped into the Great Hall. It was met with total silence as it swooped down on Gryffindor table. Slowly, oh-so-slowly, Hermione's younger self opened the scroll it bore.

The present Hermione gave a strangled scream as the piece came to a close and the images faded away. She rested her head on folded arms and cried freely onto the smooth keys of the instrument, feeling her tears vanish without her trace. Just like her sister. Just like Alyssa. The news that owl delivered on that cold February morning changed her life forever. Her parents were dead, killed by Death Eaters, and her sister was nowhere to be seen. They had searched for over a year, but then Dumbledore fell and the war started in earnest. Everybody seemed to forget about little Alyssa Rose Granger, Herione's muggle sister. And now the war was over and the wizarding world rejoyced whilst Hermione mourned. She cried for the ones lost during the war, and their families. She cried for Harry and Ron, and the pain they had experienced together. But most of all, she cried for Ally. Her little sister, outgoing and carefree, who always had mud on her clothes and that light like a fire in autumn in her eye.

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><p><em>I know it's short, but ah well! I have a vague idea of where the story could go from here, but only if you like and <strong>review! <strong>And if anyone fancies being a beta should this fic go further I'd be eternally grateful :)_  
><em>Ciao!<em>  
><em>Mya.<em>


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